Ain't Missing You At All
by unfolddream
Summary: “I’m Nathan Scott and you’re just the girl that makes my bed. We can’t ever be anything, okay, I’m sorry.” AU Naley oneshot.


Ain't Missing You At All

Summary: "I'm Nathan Scott and you're just the girl that makes my bed. We can't ever be anything, okay, I'm sorry." AU Naley one-shot.

Author Note: Eh, this is so weird. I found that sentence randomly in one of my documents, and decided to roll with it. The ending is weird, but I had to get this out there. Please leave reviews!

Disclaimer: Credit to Mark Schwahn and the others, as always.

* * *

He stares with such intensity sometimes. 

You just rip the sheets off of his bed while he spins around in his chair.

"Thanks," Nathan says.

"You're welcome," and you really are.

You know what you're doing is just awful and it's gonna suck at the end, but he's Nathan Scott. He controls what you do and when. He says when he wants you on top while you make out and when he wants you on bottom and you listen because you are the maid.

He stands up, stretching his legs. Varsity basketball at Duke has sculpted them to perfection.

"Lay down," he demands.

The door is open. You can hear his mother down the hallway.

"Nathan, the door," you say.

He ignores the door as you gently lay yourself down on his bed. He gets on top, putting his knees on either side of you. He stares into your eyes, as if he's looking for something. He puts his hands on your cheeks and bends down to kiss you. Just for five seconds, then he rolls off.

"Get out." He jumps up and sits down at his desk, resuming his work.

You try to protest. "Nathan, you have to -"

"Get out," he says again, louder.

"You have to put new sheets on the bed then," you say.

Sometimes, you think he just likes messing with your mind more than the actual sex.

But you like him anyway.

You finish your job around the house, making the beds and vacuuming. That takes a while.Then you leave, passing Nathan's room on the way out. There's some girl in his room that you recognize from campus. You think that's his girlfriend, but you're not sure. She comes over a lot but you never see them kissing or anything like that.

Nathan catches your eye on the way past his bedroom, you know it.

Or at least you wish.

Day after day, week after week, you come back. Sometimes Nathan has a taste for the maid, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he calls you in and slams the door. That feels _good_. Nathan Scott wants you. And sometimes, he just leaves the room when you come in and doesn't come back until you leave. That makes you feel like shit.

The next time you're at the Scott house, Nathan shuts the door. He strips most of the clothes off, except for his green striped boxers. Then he takes you to the bed. You then shut your eyes as he lowers his lips to kiss you.

You swear you hear him say something, mutter it lightly under his breath, and you swear it was something like, "we should hang out."

"What?" You don't believe those words, so you want to clarify.

He hastily replies, "Nothing," and goes back to kissing you.

You leave the house afteraccidently leaving ahickey on his neck.You wonder how he'll explain _that_ one to his girlfriend. The next day, he is working hard at his desk, and doesn't even kiss you.

A month later, it's down to the stick. The stupid fucking stick that will tell you your future. Positive or negative. Positive bad, and negative good.

In the viewer box, a bright pink negative sign comes through. You swear you'll never tell Nathan about this and decide to go on birth control right then and there, making a two-o-clock appointment for tomorrow.

The day after tomorrow, you're at the Scott house. Nathan is kissing your torso, and when he peels down your jeans, he sees the band-aid-like birth control patch.

"You quitting smoking or something?" He asks. That amuses the hell out of him. He fingers the patch lightly, and chuckles

"No. It's birth control."

He seems alerted. "Why?" He sits up on your hips, wiping his lips off with the back of his hand.

"Because I wanted to."

"We use condoms," he says, staring down at your face.

"I just get worried," you reply, praying he'll go back to kissing you.

"Are you with other guys?" He asks. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I'm not gay." Nathan says, smirking.

"I meant if you have a girlfriend."

"No. What about you?"

You protest. "That girl…"

He laughs. "Peyton? Dude, she's my tutor. I suck at college, but I gotta keep my grades up because otherwise, I'll get kicked of the basketball team. I've known her for years."

"Oh."

You feel stupid.

"So about you? Do you have a boyfriend? Lovers?"

"Besides you?"

He corrects you after a short pause. "We are not lovers. I'm Nathan Scott and you're just the girl that makes my bed." That stings you. You tear up, and tears threatens to wash down your face. "Oh, fuck, don't do that." He says. "We can't ever be anything, okay, I'm sorry. This wasn't anything more than this." He motions to the bed.

You struggle to get up. "Nathan, let me go."

He won't though. "I'm sorry."

"Nathan, please." You start crying and using his thumb, he wipes them away.

"You get it though, right?"

"No. Nathan…last month, we were doing this, and I swore you said 'wanna hang out?'"

"I did." He whispered.

"Did you mean it?"

He hesitates. "At the moment."

You sigh, your tears drying up. It seems like the first time you've seen him clearly, but the truth is you've seen him clearly all along. You leave Mrs. Scott a note asking her to call you, so she does at eight o'clock. You let her know that you're quitting. "I'm sorry to see you go, Haley. Was it anything I or my family did?"

"No."

Except it is.

Despite the fact that Nathan Scott has broken your heart, you still want to see him. You must be _sick _or something for wanting that. Do you really want to torture yourself? And him?

Now, it's over. You see Nathan on campus sometimes, but just fleeting glances because you don't allow yourself to think about him. He is a thing of the past, a "flavor-of-the-month."

"It's Haley, right?" He says one day when he walks into the campus ice cream and coffee shop, where you work. "I'll have a small chocolate cone."

"That's three dollars and forty-four cents, please."

He hands you a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

The other person you work with hands him the cone, and he leaves, but not before leaning in a just a little and whispering, "you meant something to me, I realized. I'm sorry."

He means it, you know. Which hurtsyou just a little bit more.

END


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